


Heart-Shaped Box

by papercutperfect



Category: Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M, Short & Sweet, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, and porny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my Tumblr drabbles.</p><p>1 - Erik and Charles getting ready to meet Angel at the strip-club, and thinking up dirty ways to play with bow ties.<br/>2 - University!AU. Charles is desperately closeted (though very promiscuous) and Erik is the head of the uni’s LGBTQ group.<br/>3 - Erik doubts he'll ever get tired of Charles wearing his clothes.<br/>4 - Charles and Wesley. It’s almost amusing how quickly people assume that Wesley is the dangerous one.<br/>5 - Charles/Erik, and a steamy moment in an empty movie theater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles getting ready to meet Angel at the strip-club, and thinking up dirty ways to play with bow ties.

“Is a bow tie a little over the top for a strip club?”

Arching a bemused eyebrow, Erik glances up at Charles’ reflection in the circular mirror above the dresser table, his voice thick with playful mocking. “Is there ever a time when a bow tie _isn’t_ considered over the top?”

Charles purses his lips, fiddling wistfully with the thin length of satin fabric. “I find them charming.”

“Charles, you find tweed jackets with elbow patches charming.” Erik’s lips curl into a smirk as he straightens the lapels of his suit jacket and ignores the dark look Charles shoots him in the mirror.

“Point made. I just don’t see why, when we’re already wearing suits and cufflinks to a _strip club_ , I shouldn’t smarten it that one step further with a nice bow tie.”

“Because we’re there to recruit this girl, not marry her.” Erik tugs the fabric from Charles’ hand before he can protest, curling it around his long fingers. “We can’t go in there dressed to the nines while our girl is wearing very little of anything. We’ll frighten her.”

“I didn’t realise you found bow ties so intimidating.” Charles flashes Erik’s reflection a smug sideways look, blue eyes bright in the artificial light. Erik merely huffs and turns to face him fully, leaning a hip against the wooden lip of the dresser. Stood side by side like this, their height difference is wonderfully pronounced. Erik practically looms over the Telepath, though Charles has never batted an eyelash at this. Quite the contrary; Erik knows just how much Charles loves pressing up onto his tiptoes to steal a kiss, or threading his fingers through the shorter hairs at Erik’s nape to forcibly drag him down to his mouth.

“I just wanted us to look our best, that’s all.” Charles explains calmly, the open collar of his shirt very… distracting. “Not necessarily for our girl’s benefit, either.”

Erik smiles, slow and undeniably fond. “If you’re so adamant about the damn bow tie, then don’t let me stop you. It’s just…” he pauses, and the smile becomes wolfish. “I thought we might find some better uses for it here in the hotel room.”

Charles tips his head inquisitively, his gaze darkening in a way that suggests he knows exactly where this is going. “Like what?”

“Like…” Erik brings Charles’ hands up, held lazily together as he trails the soft edge of the bow tie over thin, pale wrists. He loops it slowly, over and under, until Charles’ hands are tied firmly in a yard of satin. “This.”

Charles’ answering grin is wicked. “Suddenly a neck tie is looking quite appealing.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> University!AU. Charles is desperately closeted (though very promiscuous) and Erik is the head of the uni’s LGBTQ group.

Elbowing through the crowd of chattering students, Charles shifted his book bag higher on his shoulder and squinted up at the leaflet-strewn noticeboard. A thousand colorful party fliers, requests for study partners, badly photographed sale advertisements, lost property inquiries; Charles scanned them all quickly, biting absently at his lower lip. His own flier was still there amongst them all, and — damn. No one had taken a tab yet, the neat line of handwritten phone numbers waiting patiently to be ripped away. 

Charles sighed, rubbing a tired hand through waves of shaggy, red-brown hair. His request for a housemate had been up for three days now; surely somebody had to bite soon? Two bedrooms, both en-suite, with a large kitchen area and a balcony overlooking the city skyline. People should have been fighting in the streets for a chance to live there for such little rent.

Charles had bought the place with his inheritance money at the beginning of the Semester, initially as a home for himself and Raven until she had moved out to live with the Russian Exchange Student. Without her padding around and annoying him in the way only the best sisters could, the apartment felt overly large and almost overpoweringly lonely.

Not to say that it was often empty. Charles glanced down the hall and felt the gazes of at least three guys quickly snap away from him. The apartment had had plenty of visitors, though few of them saw much more than the bedroom. Or the couch. Or the shower stall. Or the kitchen table. Or—

An arm shot into Charles’ line of vision, effectively breaking his mental list of apartment conquests. Blinking rapidly, he followed the (wiry, lean-muscled) arm to its owner — and felt the stifling air of the packed university hallway freeze in his lungs.

The young man currently pinning a flier to the noticeboard was absolutely gorgeous. Taller than Charles by a good half-foot, with coppery-brown hair and a look of such intensity in his grey-blue eyes that Charles fully expected the flier to boast something profoundly serious, like a Greenpeace activist meeting or a political statement about the upcoming presidential election.

Instead Charles’ gaze fell on a vibrantly colored poster with a rainbow flag declaring that the next LGBTQ meeting would take place in the library at 4pm.

The guy looked at Charles - looked him up and down - and gave the tiniest, sexiest smile Charles had ever seen in his life.

“Will we see you there?” The guy’s voice was deep and slightly accented, more a rumble at the back of his throat. Charles shook his head almost through reflex, darting a glance between the poster and this stunning display of sex-on-legs.

“I’m not gay.” It was a lie he had come to perfect over the years, one he sometimes practiced in front of a mirror with love-bites still peppering his neck and the reflection of a sleeping man in his bed, but one knowing look from this guy and the words sounded brittle on his tongue.

The man smiled wider, one eyebrow arching high. “Pity.” He paused for a moment before holding out a hand. Charles shook it with an arm that felt crafted from jelly. “I’m Erik Lehnsherr. You’re the one looking for a roommate, right?”

Before Charles could answer, Erik had reached up and plucked one of the telephone numbers from Charles’ flier, pushing it into the back pocket of his jeans.

The grin became a smirk. “Think about the meeting.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik doubts he'll ever get tired of Charles wearing his clothes.

It starts off innocently enough, with a pair of brown leather gloves. 

Charles doesn't ask and neither does Erik when he sees them on Charles' hands, snug and warm and rather cunningly pilfered from Erik's coat pocket. Erik doesn't mind; those thumbless woollen monstrosities that Charles usually wears are neither use nor ornament, and it's good to see Charles taking care of himself for once. It's especially nice when Charles threads those lovely warm fingers through Erik's own a little while later, his smile as warm and soft as old, supple leather. 

Little things begin to vanish after that, items of clothing that Erik doesn't even notice are missing until he sees Charles wearing them; a belt, a pair of socks, a thin black tie for their recruiting trip to the strip club. Despite his nomadic lifestyle, Erik has always chosen to wear the finer things in life, from cashmere sweaters to designer sunglasses. After the flea-ridden, threadbare uniforms of the concentration camps, the comfort of a well-made leather jacket is especially potent. And Charles looks magnificent in Erik's Armani shirt, even if it is a little long for him. Erik can only imagine how it would look without pants, its hem falling coyly past Charles' hips, brushing his thighs, the rise of his cock tenting the fabric _just so_ \--

Charles didn't mention having overheard the fantasy, but the telltale smirk on the telepath's lips when Erik had walked into their hotel room later that same night and found Charles waiting on the edge of the bed wearing that damned shirt and _only_ that damned shirt spoke volumes. 

It isn't until Charles takes his favourite sweater that Erik realises he is in big trouble. 

In public, Erik prefers turtlenecks. Comfortable, stylish, available in many colours, and - most importantly - handy for hiding the numerous love bites that Charles likes to leave bright and angry on Erik's neck. But in his snatched private moments, Erik enjoys slipping into an overly large wool sweater, a deep cobalt colour with buttons trailing one shoulder. It was the first piece of clothing Erik had bought with a murdered nazi's money, and had become frayed and worn over the years of travelling from place to place. He adores the old thing, even if it isn't really his colour and is starting to patch at the elbows. 

But on Charles; on Charles it looks... breathtaking. 

The neckline stretches obscenely over his broader shoulders, a fine scattering of red-brown freckles vanishing beneath the fabric. The colour brings out the darker blue shades of Charles' eyes, and highlights the paleness of his skin until it near shines in the weak hotel light. Suitably smug lips clash most beautifully, and are tipped up in a smile. 

"You do realise you're going to have to give that back?" Erik asks, letting his eyes flick the length of Charles' torso. 

"Fine." Charles shrugs a shoulder - the buttoned one, for the love of - and glances pointedly at his carefully crossed legs. Beige canvas pants. a pair Charles usually favours, but this time Erik can see a thin strip of what looks like maroon silk peeking out above his waistline.

His mouth goes dryer than the Sahara. 

"But if you want these back, you're going to have to come and get them."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s almost amusing how quickly people assume that Wesley is the dangerous one.

It’s almost amusing how quickly people assume that Wesley is the dangerous one. 

Sure, he prefers to drape himself in worn leather jackets as opposed to frumpy old-man cardigans; his hair is shorter and sticks up in choppy tufts at the back of his head, whilst Charles’ hangs into his eyes and flops around in a way that seems genetically pre-designed to drive women - and some men - crazy. Wesley carries knives in his pockets and guns stuffed down the back of his pants; Charles, books and china teacups, fountain pens forever tucked behind his ear.

Wesley can bend bullets and slow time - flashy, perhaps, but it’s always gotten the job done thus far. The Assassin that never misses and fires with an apology on his lips. Even with his target hidden from view, those bullets will twist and turn and, inevitably, find you. Charles is always eager to watch him practice, setting up mannequins in the bunker and smiling secretively behind the rim of his teacup whenever Wesley asks where he got them from. 

But despite all of that, the bullets and the scars and the leather - he isn’t the dangerous one.

Wesley can shoot you. Charles can make you shoot yourself.

And he could make you _want_ to do it, to pick up the gun and press it firmly to the soft skin at your temple. He could make you crave the silence of death, that split-second bite of metal through your flesh. He could make you shoot every person you care about first, and with a smile on your face. 

All that with a single thought. He wouldn’t even need to stand up or put down his book. 

And it’s this that makes Wesley snort with wry amusement whenever people look upon the twins and immediately tense around him, their eyes wary and guarded. People gravitate easily to Charles‘ smiles and open kindness, stepping over themselves to put distance between themselves and the crazy American brother.

If only they knew how scary a place the world would be if they were to unleash Charles upon it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [these](http://groovylabrat.tumblr.com/post/52693366987/fancymen-ancy) very NSFW gifs.

If Erik needed any further proof that he was dating Lust incarnate, then surely this was it.

In Charles’ defense, the movie was boring. Flashes and bangs and fiery explosions, no real plot or character development to be seen; a cheesy action-adventure flick that struggled to hold either of their interests.

Still, Erik couldn’t quite recall when Charles yawning behind the back of his hand and shoveling popcorn into his mouth had become _this_ ; pants lost to the darkness beneath their seats and Charles’ bare ass parked squarely in his lap, his fleshy hips gyrating back and forth as smooth and graceful as water over a riverbed.

Thank whatever God of Kinky Sex watching over them that the theater was empty. An early afternoon showing in the middle of nowhere, something to kill time while their next mutant target was in school. This little recruitment trip of theirs had thrown many new and interesting opportunities into Erik’s path — Charles included — but this was something else: raw, passionate, and not to mention _highly illegal._

Charles laughed in his mind, amused and breathless and more than a little incredulous. Erik nipped at his chin in retaliation; okay, so he’d broken numerous laws on numerous occasions, but even he had never fucked anyone in the middle of a dark theater before.

They had no lube — neither of them were in the habit of carrying travel-sized sachets to the movie theater — though neither had paused to lament the loss. Charles had merely reached behind himself and pushed Erik’s dick between his ass cheeks, never even breaking the seal of their lips. The drag was _incredible._

Despite the fact that anyone could walk in — a steward, or a late customer — their rhythm remained unhurried. Erik’s fingers left dents in Charles’ skin, gasps and moans caught and swallowed. Charles’ cock rubbed incessantly against his stomach; Erik reached for it, and received a slap to the wrist for his trouble.

_‘Like this,’_ a whisper in his mind, a plea or perhaps a demand. Erik sank his teeth into Charles’ bottom lip, his own special form of acquiescence, and slid his hands up under Charles’ shirt to feel the crest and roll of his lower back.

Another explosion ripped across the screen, illuminating Charles’ pale skin and the sheen of clean sweat slicking his spine. Erik purred, pleasure coiling tight and hot in the pit of his stomach.

_‘Easy.'_ Smirking now, dark and teasing and oh-so wicked. _‘There’s still half an hour of the film to go.’_


End file.
